In War and Peace
by Jessamyn Wolf
Summary: Theodore Nott is assigned as Neville Longbottom's Potions tutor and an unlikely relationship blossoms. However, there are dark times ahead. In the end they have two options: become warriors and risk their lives and love for each other. Or run away.
1. Chapter 1

Hi!

I have had this in my mind for an endlessly long time and it has just been a matter of writing it down. The dark and mysterious Theodore Nott has always intrigued me. Who is he? How does he look? What are his political views? And most importantly: is he gay or straight?

Not only Harry and his friends and Draco fought their battles during the war. There are other stories. This is the one about Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott.

**Title:** In War and Peace  
**Pairing:** Neville/Theodore  
**Word count:** ~1770 (this chapter)  
**Rating:** Eventual Mature Content  
**Warnings:** Mpreg, slash, violence, sexual situations, language, angst, hurt/comfort, character death (not Theodore or Neville)  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary:** Theodore Nott is assigned as Neville Longbottom's Potions tutor and an unlikely relationship blossoms. However, there are dark times ahead. Voldemort is gathering his forces to fight the side of Light. People they thought were allies turn their backs on them. In the end they have two options: become warriors and risk their lives and love for each other. Or run away.  
**Author's notes:** WiP.

* * *

Neville realised it was the wrong ingredient the moment his fingers let go and dropped it into the cauldron.

It was too late then, of course.

He closed his eyes, resigned himself to his fate, and waited for the inevitable.

The explosion shook the entire classroom. Stone cracked beneath his soles from the blast. It was one of Neville's biggest (not that he was any proud of that feat) and the acid smell would linger for months after.

It was eerily quiet, now, and he peeled his lids back to take in the horrifying result of his mishap. It would take more than magical spells to clean the blackened walls. Neville knew exactly who'd get that job.

He swallowed audibly and glanced around. The other students stood frozen in shock, their school robes covered in ash. Harry's glasses were hanging off one ear and Seamus' wild hair hissed and smoked. Malfoy was glaring so hard Neville's very heart shrunk.

Heat pressed uncomfortably against Neville's cheeks and it wasn't only embarrassment; his desk was afire.

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" Professor Snape's voice cut through the vacuum in his ears like a shard of glass. The thick cloud of dust at the front parted and Snape advanced like raging thunder towards Neville.

Neville cowered behind what remained of his chair. Snape's high-heeled, pointy boots were grey and lined with scrapes. He noticed this because he was staring fixedly at the floor, too frightened and shameful to face his furious teacher.

Snape knew how to make him, though. A cold hand grasped Neville's jaw and clenched, forcing him to look.

Numbness spread down his legs and he winced; Snape had a burn-mark on the tip of his hooked nose. He had really done it this time, he thought, and had it not been for Snape's strong grip he would have keeled over.

"You STUPID boy." Professor Snape spat the words, and he dug too-long nails deep into Neville's skin. Tears welled up, spilled unwillingly along his temples, and a broken sob escaped from his throat. He was sure he hated himself just as much as Snape – and Malfoy – did, perhaps even more.

Snape became a blur. Neville was aware that he was speaking again, and he tried to stop his pathetic sniffling.

"I have had enough," Snape was saying, contempt dripping from his voice. "I would like nothing more than to send you home. However, the Headmaster would require that I give you one last chance at redemption. So here it is, Longbottom: if you do not improve yourself within Christmas, I _will_ fail you."

Someone, probably Hermione, gasped.

"As you very well know, this year you are to take your OWLs, which mark the completion of your core classes. The consequence of not passing is that your education at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft will be of no value." Snape jerked Neville's head to the side and added in a low, threatening tone, "My patience is coming to an end and you are stretching it. You have three months." Then he was released so suddenly Neville collapsed like a ragdoll on his arse. He could hear the Slytherins behind him snicker.

As he lay still and gazed hazily at the strangely caved ceiling (had he done that?), the reality of his situation finally hit him and painful panic blossomed in his chest.

Oh Merlin, he couldn't do this. He didn't understand Potions and he had _tried_. This was a battle he could not win.

Had he been Harry James Potter, he would have set his shoulders and met the challenge head-on. But he was Neville Longbottom, and the fight in him – if he had ever really had any – was long gone. Being a born loser and school's prime target of mockery did that to a person, he supposed.

In short, he was doomed. He might as well pack his belongings and take the next train from Hogsmeade station. They would send him off by January anyway.

"You!" The bark pulled Neville out of his reverie and his eyes darted sideways to Snape, who was pointing a demanding finger at a gaping Theodore Nott. Neville saw the other boy straighten up like a soldier reporting for duty. He paid the burnt-out quill in his hand no heed.

"You are responsible for tutoring Longbottom this autumn," Snape said, to everybody's astonishment. "You will be suitably rewarded, of course, Mr Nott."

Neville was paralyzed. Had Snape just offered him help through Nott, or was he reading too much into it? No, Snape must be doing what Headmaster Dumbledore expected from his employees, and he likely believed Neville had no chance of succeeding in any case.

He received a deadly, accusing look from Nott and was consumed with guilt. It didn't feel good to have put Nott, although a Slytherin, in such a spot. The task Snape had given him was impossible, and Nott had better things to do with his life than to shepherd Neville through his.

Snape returned to cast a swift and angry _Aguamenti_ on Neville's cheerfully burning desk. A good, ice cold splash landed on Neville, simultaneously unlocking his limbs so that he could stiffly scramble to his feet.

The professor dismissed the class brusquely, and Neville rushed for the exit on trembling legs that felt like timber, planning to flee for the nearest toilet and hide forever. At least until dinner.

"Longbottom, where do you think you are going?" Snape's even baritone interrupted his mad leap for freedom. "You are to stay behind. We are going to have a nice little chat about your punishment."

Disappointment stung like needles in him, but just as quickly it faded. It was typical his life, wasn't it? Besides, he deserved whatever he got.

Upon his return, he passed Nott. The Slytherin elbowed him in the side, obviously annoyed. Neville kept going, mustering great powers of will for every step he took as if he was on his way to be hanged.

* * *

Neville wetted his lips and raised a carefully loaded forkful of rice and chicken to his mouth. Then he paused, for a moment feeling disgusting.

Here he sat, ensconced between Harry and Seamus at the Gryffindor table, eating a hearty meal. After having blasted the dungeon apart and almost destroying Snape's precious potions storage, he would have thought the bottomless pit that was his stomach wouldn't be quite so eager for food.

He should be devastated, not hungry. It was irritating, really, because he lacked the discipline for a self-imposed diet. An image formed in his mind, of a depressed and sickly pale Neville that lay motionless in bed, covered to his chin with the red duvet and thin wrists crossed on top of his torso. Seamus and Dean and Ron stood around him with grim expressions, while Harry pushed limp hair off Neville's sweaty forehead and pleaded, "Eat something, Nev. You have lost far too much weight."

Neville sniffed softly, oddly touched by that mental scene, and his appetite waned a bit – until he inhaled and again caught the heavenly smell of chicken and warm rice. His resistance was weak, and with a quivering hand he quickly brought the fork fully to his mouth. The shame that flooded him was familiar, but the glorious taste of hot, spicy food overrode it.

As usual Neville ate in silence. Around him there were chatter and laughter he wasn't part of, though it had been like this since first year and Neville was seldom bothered by it. It wasn't a conscious act to shut him out of the crowd, he told himself. The boys and girls in his house weren't evil. They simply had their own lives and friends to care for and so couldn't be expected to pay dull, lonesome Neville attention.

Dean said something doubtlessly naughty that caused Seamus to shake with mirth. He bumped against Neville just as he was about to take a sip of pumpkin juice.Sighing, Neville reached for a napkin and refused to let the fact that Seamus hadn't apologised affect him. On his other side, Harry was grinning and daring Ron to eat a clam while Hermione watched the two with a disapproving scowl.

Neville wiped his shirt dry and decided that he just as well should go to bed. He was satisfied, and the sooner this day ended the better.

Harry glanced up when he rose, arching dark brows inquiringly. Neville normally savoured dessert, clinging to anything sugary he could find.

"Tired," he answered the unvoiced question, and Harry nodded and gave him an unconcerned smile. Neville was relieved.

Unnoticed by the rest of his house, Neville slipped out of the Great Hall. He fished in his pocket for the freshly baked chocolate biscuit he had nicked off the table and headed for the main staircase.

"Hey, Longbottom. Wait." At the sound of his name he halted and spun around to check who had called. Theodore Nott had followed him and was approaching purposefully with a note in his hand that he held out. "This," the Slytherin said and shoved the piece of paper at Neville.

Neville crammed the last bit of the biscuit into his mouth and accepted it with a muffled, "Thanks". Nott looked less than impressed.

_Monday evening, six o'clock sharp, the library_.

"Okay?" Nott was keeping his distance, as if he was afraid of catching germs. Light from the torches along the walls flickered across his face. Neville had expected to see a grimace but instead Nott's expression was unreadable.

Nott's uniform was neat to the point of ridiculous; not a wrinkle anywhere and despite the late hour his shirt was still buttoned up to his Adam's apple, his tie perfectly knotted and with a silver family crest pinned on it like some sort of Merlin's Order.

Slytherins and their pure-blood pride.

"Okay," Neville agreed. Nott watched him with narrowed, speculating eyes. "Um." Neville self-consciously shuffled his feet and didn't quite know what to do now. Did Nott want an apology from him? The other boy was probably pissed off. Hanging out with Neville Longbottom wasn't a favourite past-time activity amongst Slytherins, unless it was spent to pull pranks on him.

Nott's lips thinned into a tense line before he spoke, taking Neville by surprise. "Chocolate," Nott said shortly, lifting his chin imperiously and looking down his nose. Neville stared at him blankly, not comprehending what chocolate had to do with everything. Nott sighed explosively and bit out, "On your cheek." Then he turned his back on Neville and stalked towards the Great Hall again, shutting the door behind him with a loud, arrogant bang.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** In War and Peace  
**Pairing:** Neville/Theodore  
**Word count:** ~2400 (this chapter)  
**Rating:** Eventual Mature Content  
**Warnings:** Mpreg, slash, violence, sexual situations, language, angst, hurt/comfort, character death (not Theodore or Neville)  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary:** Theodore Nott is assigned as Neville Longbottom's Potions tutor and an unlikely relationship blossoms. However, there are dark times ahead. Voldemort is gathering his forces to fight the side of Light. People they thought were allies turn their backs on them. In the end they have two options: become warriors and risk their lives and love for each other. Or run away.  
**Author's notes:** WiP.

* * *

Monday sneaked upon him and once he realised it was there he freaked out and floated through the rest of the day like a zombie, aghast that he had not dived into the Potions textbook already yet unable to do anything about it.

It was ten past six when Neville stumbled gracelessly into the library, breathing heavily from running to the fourth floor, and earned a sharp shush from Madam Pince. He had been toying with the idea of skipping the tutoring entirely to retreat as a recluse in the mountains somewhere, but his inner Gryffindor (that so rarely reared its head) had come through at the last minute and didn't allow him off the hook.

Nott was leaning against one of the round mahogany tables at the window-side of the vast room. His arms were folded, and his brows lowered as Neville hurried anxiously towards him.

"I'm so, so sorry I'm late," Neville stammered. He felt utterly stupid and not to mention childish in the tall and composed Slytherin's presence. Cold sweat trickled down his spine and he drew in too much air, ending in a coughing fit that startled the occupants in the library out of their homework-induced stupors.

Nott's stoic attitude dropped along with a deep sigh. "Merlin, give me strength," he muttered, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Neville stood awkwardly in front of him, blotchy and teary and gasping. Nott peered through his lashes, the hand still half-covering his face. "Right. Enough time wasted. Let's get the formalities out of the way."

To Neville's amazement, Nott dropped the hand and presented it to him. Their eyes met when Neville's clammy fingers touched Nott's palm, and Nott's lips quirked. "Theodore Nott, Slytherin House."

Neville blushed and for a desperate moment forgot his own name. "Neville Longbottom," he eventually responded. "Um, Gryffindor House."

"Nice to meet you," Nott said, letting go and subtly wiping his hand on his trousers. "Shall we?" He gestured for Neville to sit and pulled out a chair beside him.

"All right." Neville faked confidence as best as he could, which really wasn't good at all. He had never been adept at acting; his career extended to one miserable performance as the Christmas star in a Yule play at Infant School, and all he'd had to do was standing rigid for an hour. He had toppled off the stage half-way through.

He flung his satchel on top of the table with more bravado than he inhibited, working hard to contain his fear and nervousness. All Slytherins were the same sly bastards and Neville was _terrified_ Nott would be as bad as Malfoy.

He loosened his tie and pushed the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt to his elbows, revealing boyish, hairless forearms. He bit his tongue in annoyance when he discovered that he had dirt under his nails from Herbology earlier. As if he didn't look grubby enough.

"Open your book at chapter one, please." Nott's smooth drawl lacked enthusiasm.

Lead formed in his stomach and Neville's hands felt like a troll's as he located the right page. Merlin, he hoped Nott didn't decide to quiz him. It wasn't a secret that he was a vegetable when it came to Potions, but he was allergic to any sort of tests. He got a rash, true fact, and sometimes he threw up. Gosh, why _hadn't_ he come more prepared?

Nott had his fingers spread over his own copy of the textbook. They were both delicate and strong-looking, and _his_ nails were short and manicured. He would not be flabbergasted if Nott told him he played the piano.

Not that Nott would ever degrade himself to offer Neville Longbottom, Clown of the Century, personal information like that.

The boy slid his new quill behind an ear, the midnight-black feather springing forward to brush adoringly against a pale, high cheekbone. He glanced up to catch Neville staring. The mint-green colour of his iris intensified, and Neville was reminded of how he used to dream of green or blue or grey eyes when he was younger. However, his boring brown ones fit rather perfectly on his plain, uninteresting face.

"We're meeting twice a week," Nott said slowly, deliberately, while holding Neville's gaze. "Mondays and Thursdays at _precisely_ six o'clock. I want Potions to be your main priority this term." Nott's jaw tensed and released. "We have a lot of work to do."

Oh. So Nott did plan to take these sessions seriously. He bet Snape hadn't counted on that. Neville disguised his puzzlement and nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best," he hastily promised, praying it was what Nott wanted to hear.

Nott broke the eye-contact and hung his head in an un-Slytherin-like show of despair, and he let out a small groan that made Neville involuntarily curl his toes. "I certainly hope that is enough, Longbottom."

Of course, Neville knew that it wouldn't be. He worried his lips, and then forced words to tumble across them. "I'm sorry that Professor S-Snape made you do this. I know I'm hopeless and that this is a frustrating situation for you. I'm really sorry you have to deal with..." He gulped and looked down, crestfallen. "…Me. Sorry."

There was a pause, in which Neville agonised over his stuttering and Nott's knuckles whitened. Then Nott cleared his throat and said, "Stop apologising, will you? I have a lot of experience tutoring, so this will be fine. Pardon me if you got the wrong impression. I guess I am…tired."

Neville fingered the edges of his book. He didn't trust his voice to speak.

"Well, I think it is about high time we commence the lesson of this evening," Nott continued, when Neville failed to answer. "Longbottom, are you ready? Good. _Chapter one: potion-making and the lunar cycle_. What can you tell me about it?"

* * *

The lake was still, its surface so black and blank that it reflected the trees around it and the mountains that rose majestically behind them. Neville's face stared back at him from its immovable surface, brown eyes like gaping holes above a running, red nose and chapped lips.

He had finally been released from detention. Snape had ordered him to polish the glass bottles that gathered dust in his storage cupboard. It took three hours to finish the job, and with aching joints and cobweb in his hair, Neville had decided that he needed fresh air before bedtime.

The sun was setting, its low golden beams pooling in every nook and dip in the landscape. Neville sighed and settled back on his calves.

Today had been _one of those days_. Having detention on top of it all… Neville was physically and mentally drained.

Malfoy had been in a mood and tormented Neville each time they crossed paths. He tossed remarks after him, cracked jokes about his parents, and poked him viciously with his wand. Harry had told Malfoy off at one point, though the blond only increased the taunting until Harry shut up and demonstratively walked away, taking Ron and Hermione with him.

Neville was used to block it out; he didn't know why his emotions ran wild or why he was so vulnerable lately.

Luckily, Herbology with Hufflepuff had lifted his spirits severely. It was by far his favourite subject, and the Hufflepuffs were nice, harmless people. Fresh out of class, he bubbled with joy he hadn't experienced in ages. He didn't even hesitate to smile at Nott as they stepped into the Great Hall at the same time and was jostled together by the crowd.

Malfoy, of course, couldn't let Neville be happy for long. The blond snake had followed him down to the dungeons after dinner, his slithering, hissing voice echoing around the dark and damp space. Entering Snape's office had actually been a relief, albeit a short-lived one.

Stupid Malfoy. Neville brought his hands up and rested his head in them. Harry said he was worth twelve of him. He sort of understood that, since he wasn't a spoiled, bullying, evil prat. But Malfoy had the fortune, intelligence and looks – and what more was there to it, really, in the end?

Also, Malfoy possessed an incredible drive. There was a passion and intensity about him that Neville, and he suspected Harry too, admired, and he looked bloody brilliant when he got going, like an avenging angel. Something fluttered in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy, and he frowned.

He pulled his robes tighter around him, and with a shudder at the cold he left the deserted Hogwarts grounds for the warmth of the castle. Maybe he wouldn't feel so raw tomorrow. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate before bed would sooth his frayed edges.

He grasped for the golden knobs just as the front doors swung open. Nott stepped aside when he saw Neville, letting him through first.

"Longbottom," he greeted, holding one door open like a servant welcoming his master home.

"Hi," Neville replied, restraining a grin at Nott's evident struggle to be flawlessly well-mannered.

Nott held up a broom. "Going to practise," he explained. Neville had heard about Quidditch try-outs next week. It wasn't something he considered. With his balance and poise he knew he would be a terrible player.

"Nice broom," Neville complimented. It was a stupid thing to say, but Neville had never claimed to be a great conversationalist.

Nott chuckled but thanked him, and then he strode out into the weak orange light. Neville watched him until the doors slid shut, plunging him in darkness.

* * *

Neville groaned and threw down his quill in irritation. Nott had given him an assignment for Thursday – yes, already! – and he didn't fathom any of it. The headline was the single constructive thing he had written.

He had Astronomy class tonight, and he didn't have time tomorrow before their scheduled meeting at six o'clock. That meant he _had_ to finish it now.

"Merlin," he whimpered, tearing at his hair and relishing the slight pain. He didn't tackle pressure well. Time ticked by, and Neville became more stressed and less productive.

"Problem, Longbottom?" Nott's posh upper-class accent was easily recognisable, and Neville's heart raced like an untamed horse in his chest – pathetically over-exited because someone actually acknowledged him.

Neville gave a helpless shrug. "You could say that," he murmured, removing ink-stained hands from the wrinkled parchment.

Nott, to his surprise, sat down at his table, bringing with him cool outdoor air. His hair was damp from the rain that had come overnight and upset the lake and turned the grounds muddy. He eyed the plate with brownies and shook his head incredulously.

"What?" Neville was defiant and too on edge to be shy about it. "I was hungry. And sugar is good for the brain, you know."

Arching an eyebrow, Nott grabbed a brownie off the plate and pushed it away so that he could rest his elbows on the gleaming wooden surface. "I'm not complaining." He grinned, flashing white teeth, and took a bite, eyes fastened on Neville as he chewed.

Neville blinked, taken aback by Nott's behaviour. "Um, had a good day?" he tried.

"Oh, not particularly," Nott replied. "Watching you cry and rip off your own hair in public was only so entertaining. Here, let me see."

"Wasn't crying," Neville corrected. He was ashamed to hear petulance in his voice.

Nott snorted, muttered, "Poor little sod," and then went about deciphering Neville's unreadable scrawl.

* * *

The plate of brownies was empty, only scattered with crumbs and sticky fingerprints. The light in the library had dimmed, and the glow from the candle on their table was warm against Neville's face.

Nott was reading through Neville's assignment one last time, a slight curl to his upper lip and green eyes soft as they tracked the words. The tension Neville had seen in him on Monday had evaporated; it was as if practising Quidditch drained him of the energy to keep up the typical stiff posture that belonged to Slytherins. He had even undone his tie and the top buttons of his shirt. His brown hair was tousled from running his pianist's hands through it, often in mute frustration at Neville's slow wit.

Neville slumped over and rested his head on his folded arms while he waited. Hermione sat in a corner with a large tome in her lap, and there was a group of Ravenclaws engaged in a heated, whispered discussion in another. Madam Pince was at her desk, sorting through a tall stack of books that teetered dangerously.

Raindrops tapped against the windows. Neville could hear the wind blowing, too. He let his eyes drift shut, felt the tender aching in his back from detention the previous day, and just listened to the pouring rain and the occasional scratch of Nott's black-feathered quill against Neville's cheap, rough parchment.

The scratching stopped and there was a rustle of fabric as Nott stretched his long legs. Neville could sense eyes on him, and peeked through his fringe and up.

"It is perfect," Nott said quietly in the emptying library. "You should be proud."

Neville sat, left cheek prickling after having been pressed against his shirtsleeves. "Well. I've had a lot of help from you," he whispered back, pleased nonetheless.

Nott smirked. "Obviously."

Neville shot him a mock-glare and Nott's smirk widened. "There are some misspellings, but you have done a great job considering your understanding of the subject."

"Thanks." Neville grinned despite his reserved demeanour.

"You are most welcome," Nott returned gallantly, and bowed his head before Neville could catch the responding smile.

They walked together to the spot where they had to part; Neville needed to manoeuvre his way to the Astronomy Tower from the top of the main staircase, while Nott had to descend it to get to the Slytherin dormitories.

"Okay, um, I'm going in that direction." Neville clutched the book bag to his chest (the strap was torn and he had temporarily forgotten the spell to fix it) and shifted on his feet.

Nott paused, a hand on the marble banister, and glanced over his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow at six, right?"

"Of course," Nott affirmed. "Good night." Then he dragged his eyes away, and the expensive robes flowed behind him as he went.

Neville's skin on his chest grew hot and tight, and as he walked up and up and up, he found himself smiling.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

7 October 2010:

Hi dear readers!

I wanted to let you know that I have edited this chapter a bit and added an extra scene. Hopefully it flows better now and doesn't feel too rushed :)

**Title:** In War and Peace  
**Pairing:** Neville/Theodore  
**Word count:** ~2850 (this chapter)  
**Rating:** Eventual Mature Content  
**Warnings:** Mpreg, slash, violence, sexual situations, language, angst, hurt/comfort, character death (not Theodore or Neville)  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary:** Theodore Nott is assigned as Neville Longbottom's Potions tutor and an unlikely relationship blossoms. However, there are dark times ahead. Voldemort is gathering his forces to fight the side of Light. People they thought were allies turn their backs on them. In the end they have two options: become warriors and risk their lives and love for each other. Or run away.  
**Author's notes:** WiP

* * *

Malfoy was in a mood – again.

"Out of my way," he snarled, shoving Neville roughly to the side and marching on. Parkinson laughed shrilly and Zabini snorted derisively. Both glided by in a wide arc as if being near Neville might infect them with a nasty illness.

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed when they stomped past, followed by a small perfume-smelling, white teeth-flashing herd of cackling boys and girls that effectively made Neville feel like a garden gnome.

Neville rubbed his shoulder, which throbbed in pain from where it had hit the brick wall. He stretched his neck and squinted against the dizzy stars in his sight. Malfoy's blond hair was a stark contrast to the darker tones of his faithful entourage.

Nott wasn't with them, he realised. His slightly slumped shoulders and sedate gait would have looked alien amongst his housemates' ramrod straight backs and exaggerated swagger.

Rounding the next corner, Neville was still gripping his shoulder. He hoped it would heal quickly. Transfiguration with McGonagall wouldn't be pleasant – to put it mildly – if Neville couldn't cast what spells she required. Swallowing the lump of dread that formed in his throat, Neville lumbered on.

* * *

Neville had casually asked Harry about Nott last night, while they stood freezing their ears off in the damp October weather and half-listening to Professor Sinistra's lecture.

"Theodore who?" Harry had asked, distracted by a lithe figure that practised loops on the Quidditch pitch. Neville wondered if it was Nott but he couldn't tell, since the person was obscured by shadows cast by the stands.

"Nott," Neville had repeated, drawing further back so that Ron and Hermione wouldn't overhear. "My Potions tutor," he elaborated, when Harry still looked blank.

"Oh. Him." Harry shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. He's not like I thought he would be, you know? Not like Malfoy."

Harry had huffed and wrapped his arms tightly around a waist that was thinner than Neville had thought. The grey worn jacket he wore couldn't possibly stave off the crisp autumnal air. "_Malfoy_. God, what an annoying git. I'm glad Nott treats you better."

Neville had nodded, thinking of brownies and shared smiles in the library. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

"Well, I don't think Nott's part of Malfoy's little gang." Harry furrowed his brows speculatively. "Although he _is_ the only person our age Malfoy seems to have a shred of respect for, so what does that say about him?"

A chill that had nothing to do with being outdoors had crept up Neville's back. His imagination spun. Could Nott really be an evil wizard working undercover for You-Know-Who and plotting to slaughter them all, keeping Malfoy on his toes with blackmail and threats and ordering minions about to fulfil his biddings?

Harry must have noticed how Neville paled, because he reached for his shoulder and patted it calmingly. "I like to believe that there's one decent person down there, though," he had said almost apologetically, indicating the dungeons. "Who knows? Maybe Nott isn't even capable of hurting a fly."

Harry had grinned lopsidedly, and Neville felt hope.

An incident that happened last spring suddenly popped into his mind when he had snuggled beneath the fluffy red duvet, warm and relaxed after a hot shower. He remembered that Lavender had determinedly set to make an impression on a Slytherin in their year that apparently was tall, dark and mysterious, and that every girl in Gryffindor seemed to have a major crush on. Neville didn't know the details, but Lavender had obviously been brushed off because she could be found weeping in the common room weeks after, to everybody's dismay. Had that been Nott?

Nott distanced himself from people, just as Neville did. The difference, Neville supposed, was that Nott chose to do so while Neville kept alone to spare his own feelings. It was better to stay away than put himself out there, only to be ignored or turned down because of his shortcomings.

His musings on his tutor had eventually faded into broken pieces of a dream, hands touching and noses bumping, and when Neville awoke, it was to a sticky mess in his pyjamas bottoms.

* * *

The Great Hall was bustling with activity and the clatter of utensils. Neville struggled to cut his steak with his well hand – he had given up magic when the spell to chop the meat into pieces had gone awry and hit his goblet, slashing it in halves.

He sighed and put down the silver knife. It was meaningless. He would have to keep to the potatoes and bread rolls.

A screech from above snatched his focus from the butter. He canted his head and gasped when he saw the stately eagle owl that sailed through the air on wide, black-specked wings.

It drifted elegantly to the Slytherin table and swooped down to land on Nott's bony shoulder. Its talons, larger even than a leopard's claws, were also black and glinted against Nott's matted uniform.

The other Slytherins didn't overwhelm their housemate with questions like Gryffindors would have done had someone in their house received owl post after breakfast. Nott licked his fingers clean and wiped them on a napkin. Then he untied the envelope from his owl's leg. The owl hooted, didn't wait for a treat, and took off.

Neville covertly spied on his tutor as he glanced at the letter and winced. Nott hastened to school his features into the cool, familiar mask, and got up to leave.

Malfoy gripped him by the arm as he passed, but they didn't exchange words. Malfoy nodded, and let Nott go.

After a visit to the dormitories to grab a box of vanilla fudge (and change the trousers that he had spilled gravy on), Neville gingerly made his way to the fourth floor and the library.

Nott was sitting at the same table they had occupied yesterday and Monday, a thick, leather-bound book lying open in front of him. He had square, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and seemed to be eagerly perusing the text.

Neville approached with more vigour than appealed to his sore right side. Finishing the assignment the previous day had been inspiring. Perhaps Potions wasn't that difficult to grasp after all? It certainly helped that Nott was a skilful teacher.

"Hi," Neville greeted a little breathily, and slid awkwardly into the chair opposite Nott's, trying not to jostle his throbbing shoulder.

Nott jumped, having apparently been absorbed in whatever he was reading. Neville tilted his head and squinted. The chapter was titled _Historic Battles in Both Worlds – Military Tactics _and the yellowing page was filled with tiny, loopy print.

Nott shut he book and pushed it into the bag at his feet. He righted his glasses and then his hands found the knot of his tie. Neville watched while Nott tightened it and smoothed out the silky material. Was Nott _fidgeting_?

"Research?" he offered, at the same time grasping clumsily with his left hand for his Potions textbook. It fell to the floor and Neville had to duck to retrieve it. "Gran – that's my grandmother – has a lot of stuff about wars, both Muggle and wizard. She's a tough old lady." He bumped his head on the way up, unsettling the table. "If you're looking for something specific, I could owl her."

"I am fine, thank you," Nott muttered dismissively, clearly not interested in discussing the topic. His eyes drifted distractedly around the room before landing on a red-faced Neville. "Are you ready to start?" Huffing and puffing, Neville eventually made it back to his seat. Nott observed the spectacle with arched brows.

Neville was conscious of the scrutiny and sheepishly tried to manage the book without moving his right arm. He fought single-handedly to balance it on his lap, and dropped it once more.

"What is the matter with you, Longbottom?" Nott asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Sorry." Neville was quick to apologise. Nott wasn't nearly as generous as yesterday, and the tension was back, thrumming off him in vibes.

Nott stood and stalked around to Neville's side, bent and fetched the book. He slammed it onto the table. "Merlin, you drive me out of my mind! Is it so hard to open a bloody book at the right page without the excessive fuss? Must you be so, so…" Nott growled and choked out, "…Helpless!"

"Quiet!" Madam Pince's thin shout interrupted Nott's rant and the boy closed his eyes and breathed sharply through his nose.

The silence was oppressive. Nott was still standing beside Neville, and it was evident that he was trembling. Neville blinked to stave off the tears that threatened to spill; Nott's explosive anger had scared him.

"Neville- I mean Longbottom. I am sorry. That was uncalled for." Neville didn't know what to say, speechless after Nott's uncharacteristic outburst. "I have a lot to think about," Nott confessed, finally turning to Neville and staring down at him. His eyes locked with Neville's for a long moment, troubled. And begging for understanding.

"It's, um, okay. I'm okay." Neville was perplexed but getting control over his tongue. "It was my fault, really. I'm a bit of a clumsy idiot, and on top of that I've hurt my arm." He smiled meekly, encouraged by the melting of the frosty green in Nott's eyes.

The Slytherin's pinched expression altered into one of remorse, and he astonished Neville by laying a hand on his good shoulder. "You're hurt?" he inquired hoarsely. He coughed to clear his throat. "What happened?"

The warmth from Nott's palm seeped through Neville's woollen vest. Tears sprang to Neville's eyes again at the touch. Somebody was willingly touching him, rubbing him comfortingly, and it felt so good and yet it didn't, because he was painfully reminded of how his life lacked regular physical contact. _Gosh, I am such a wimp._

"Nothing. I stumbled into a wall. Clumsy idiot, remember?" Neville chuckled and visibly pulled himself together. Nott frowned, lingered. His fingers stopped their caress and he went to pick up his bag.

"I think you should see Madam Pomfrey. You look a bit peaky." Nott coughed again, almost as if embarrassed, and avoided Neville's protest. "We'll continue on Monday."

He departed the library as agile and soundless like a panther.

Neville's insides twisted. He may be naïve, but even he could see through Nott's façade. Slytherins always schemed and planned nefarious plots, but what was happening now was different. Harry was right. Perhaps Malfoy and Nott _were_ up to something.

Shuddering, Neville put a chunk of fudge in his mouth and sucked on it. He couldn't evade the fact that the war was fast approaching. He saw how Harry picked at his food, how dark rings formed beneath Malfoy's pale eyes, how Hermione read every book in the library and still looked frantic.

And Nott… What if Nott was aiming to become a Death Eater? What if he already was one? Neville defied his instincts and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. However, he promised himself to keep his eyes open and ears alert. And the moment he found proof, he would go to Dumbledore.

* * *

Friday afternoon meant double Potions class. Regrettably, Neville had nothing better to do after he finished lunch than to trudge down the dark and gusty passages that lead him into the snakes' territory.

He found the steel door locked – and warded. It was typical Snape, not wishing that his pupils accessed the classroom without his presence.

The ancient castle was slightly humid from the rainy days and cool nights. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to warm them.

Something small and square brushed against the pads of his fingers. Tongue between his lips in wonder, he fished it out eagerly. The pink wrapping paper made him whoop – he thought he had eaten all of the expensive caramels the day he had bought them.

The crisp tearing sound was harsh in the gloom. Neville chewed and hummed, relaxing at the delightful burst of sugar in his mouth. Mmmm, just what he needed to dampen the horrible dread he felt at having Potions with the Slytherins.

The click of boot-heels against granite told him he was about to be joined. The footsteps reached him and faltered, as if to whom they belonged grew wary, before continuing the steadfastly slow rhythm of _left-right-left-right_.

Nott came into sight a second later, robes too large on his lanky frame and hands fisted inside the extravagant trumpet sleeves.

Neville noisily pushed the empty wrapping paper into his pocket and stood straighter. The other boy pointedly avoided looking at him, though, checking over his homework and sorting through his book bag instead.

"'Ow are you?" Neville asked, working his tongue around the sticky caramel. If Nott was embarrassed about yesterday, Neville would show him he didn't hold any grudge.

Nott paused, foregoing his pretend-engrossment with his school things to lift a perfect, sardonic eyebrow. Neville swallowed. "How are you?" he repeated, more articulately.

"I am fine." Nott closed his eyes briefly, as if counting to ten. "Since you asked, I am obliged to inquire about your well-being in return. So, Mr Longbottom, how are you?"

Neville grimaced at the mocking, formal tone. Of course Nott wasn't embarrassed or shy about yesterday, he chastised himself. The Slytherin probably just wasn't interested in chit-chatting with Neville Longbottom, the premiere idiot. "Um, I'm good, thanks." He looked down at the scruffy tips of his shoes. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt anything. I'll be quiet now, and you can continue whatever you were doing."

Raised voices announced the impending hoard that was the rest of the class, and Nott went back to stare fixedly into his book bag.

He could hear Malfoy and Harry bicker, Lavender giggle uncontrollably at one of Seamus' lewd jokes, and Parkinson comment derisively on Hermione's skirt-length while Ron told her to, "Shut up, wench".

Severus Snape arrived in the midst of the chaos, a whirlwind of greasy hair, strange potion fumes, billowing robes and bad temper.

* * *

"Thank Merlin it's Friday," Ron mumbled through a wide, indelicate yawn. He flopped heavily onto his bed. "I'm never getting up again, ever."

Dean and Seamus were changing into less formal clothes and nudged each other's boyish, naked chests humorously. Neville sighed, strangely emotional after his failed encounter with Nott, and welcomed the stab of jealousy at their easygoing friendship. He burrowed his face into his pillow so that he couldn't see what he couldn't have. The constant lump in his throat grew bigger and tears escaped his desperate blinking and slid along his lashes and temple.

"Not even for dinner?" he heard Harry tease Ron.

"You could bring it to me?" Ron piped up hopefully. Harry, Dean and Seamus all chuckled, which served to make Neville feel even more excluded. It was irrational, and he hated it when he was in this sort of mood. It wasn't their fault that he was a plump, over-sensitive little freak that was a social disaster.

Ron's grumble eventually turned into snoring. Seamus proclaimed loudly that he was going in search for girls to charm with his Irish brogue and blue eyes. Neville peeked through his fringe and saw Dean getting his sketchbook and Muggle pencil. The door shut behind them and the silence in the dorm was oppressive, like having cotton in ones ears.

Harry was humming under his breath, off-key, and that eased Neville's agony somewhat. It meant he was happy, which he deserved to be. Neville's pet toad Trevor croaked along, and Harry burst into a laughing fit.

Ron, mouth gaping and legs and arms stretched in every direction, slept on.

* * *

Neville must have fallen asleep, for when he blinked his eyes open the dormitory was empty. He cast a _Tempus_ and realised it was past dinnertime. Well.

It hurt a bit that no one had thought of letting him know, but he couldn't be too bitter about it. He had a bag of crisps in his trunk, so he wouldn't starve.

After dragging his numb limbs out of bed, he made sure that his clothes weren't too rumpled. The mirror snorted at his short trouser-legs. "Better too short than too long, Gran says. I could trip otherwise." Neville tugged at his sweater. It was green and had a hideous clover pattern, but it smelled of home and it was roomy around his stomach.

The common room was relatively deserted. On Fridays most students lingered in the Great Hall after the meal to chat and gossip with their friends, or send long, curious looks over to the other tables. The houses didn't interact much, which made it even more exciting to spy and whisper and giggle from a distance.

Dean's sketchbook lay on the low table in front of the fireplace. Tilting his head, Neville grinned fondly at the drawing expertly done in graphite; Seamus, with his coy, dimpled smile and wrinkled hastily-put-on shirt, was staring into the flickering flames, for once having a quiet moment of retrospection.

* * *

TBC

Since this pairing isn't widely explored in HP fandom, I was wondering if you could help me establish the boys' nature and personal traits and how the relationship between them is working. Am I on the right track with this or am I far off in the woods somewhere, getting more and more lost? I would appreciate any input :)

Love,

Jessamyn


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